


Wear and Tear

by snarechan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/F, Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:43:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: Aranea does not need to be ridiculed by her underlings, as if they're still in high school.(She is, and they might be.)Or gawked at by civilians, like they have any room to judgeherappearance.(They do anyway.)Or coddled by curly-haired mechanics. She doesn't have time for that bullshit.(It's not bullshit. She doesn't mind that last one.)





	Wear and Tear

**Author's Note:**

> Flashback to when I was writing for _FFXV_ based on nonsense little bits and pieces I wished had happened in the game. Inspiration for this one was taken from Aranea's uniform: her high heels and spiked helmet, in particular. The scenes focusing on those are pretty obvious when readers get to them, hah hah. 
> 
> I was hesitant on sharing this one since it's rather silly. Aranea (blessedly!) turned out to be way, waaay cooler in-game than I was anticipating. Someone as put together and capable of a soldier like her would probably never experience the scenario I ended up using in this story, but Aranea/Cindy warms my heart so I can't _not_ share. Glyphenthusiast also helped a lot in sprucing things up, so my gratitude goes out to them!

Snickers behind Aranea's back had her redirect a glare at Biggs and Wedge. They sobered at her silent reprimand, but as soon as she resumed glowering at the controls she heard their chuckles. After the third interruption she stomped her foot, the sharpened end of her heel leaving a gouge in the metal floor, and whirled on them.

"You two schoolgirls have something to say?" she asked archly.

"No, ma'am," Biggs and Wedge said in unison. They straightened in place, professional and innocent as could be.

"Does anybody else?" she barked again. Aranea turned on her other subordinates. Everyone became busier under her scrutiny. A woman shifted in her seat, causing the material to creak loudly in the silence, and Aranea snapped her head in the pilot's direction. " _What was that?_ "

"Nothing, sir! Although we're running low on fuel after—" She gulped as Aranea narrowed her eyes. "— _after_ , and we should…probably…stop?"

For a moment, Aranea made her pilot sweat it out under her glare. "Fine. Make for the closest refueling depot."

"Hammerhead is within acceptable parameters."

Aranea didn't say anything further. She trudged out of the navigation room to wait in the hangar bay, away from all the immaturity before it rubbed off on her, too, like some kind of contagious disease. The airship docked and the bay door opened to reveal lights and hunters milling about the place. One of them approached, but stopped short once they took a good look at her sullied appearance.

"Fill'er up! And we need rations. See my XOs Ding and Ling for details." She inclined her head somewhere over her shoulder, where Biggs and Wedge should soon be. _If_ they knew what was good for them. When the hunter kept staring at her, Aranea said in a more commanding tone, "Come on, make it snappy! We haven't got all night."

The hunter got right to work with her soldiers. Aranea stepped outside to supervise. There was cargo to exchange, goods that needed replenishing, and refueling that needed done. Her people were efficient though, so she didn't have to issue too many orders.

"Woo-ee, that sure is a shiner you got there."

Aranea kept her arms crossed as she turned toward the smartass, ready to rip into them, but she wasn't expecting the petite woman in grease and not much else. She ground her jaw together and followed the direction the woman pointed. On Aranea's arm was a laceration where some debris had cut her. It was already bruised and still sluggishly bleeding.

"Hmph. I didn't even notice. Don't worry about it," Aranea said.

"You sure you don't want it looked at?" the woman asked. She adjusted the ball cap she wore, the front of it sporting a logo that matched the sign on the car maintenance center to the far side of Hammerhead.

"You offering?" Aranea didn't expect a valid proposition. She was certain her reputation preceded her and that it was obvious she was handling herself just fine. And if the woman did know who she was, Aranea wouldn’t have to wait long to be left alone.

"Well shoot, I may be better at fixin' cars than people, but sure."

Aranea stared too long, the lack of a refusal taken as permission for the stranger to grab her by the good arm and drag her toward the garage. It was cozy enough for two cars, modest and kept organized. The lights were dimmed or shut off to conserve power, except for a desk with a lamp.

"Make yourself at home!" She let Aranea go so she could approach a tall, metal cabinet. After she rooted around inside, she produced a beat up tin case that turned out to be a Kenny Crow lunchbox.

While Aranea waited, she examined the workstation. She tried not to touch too much, lest she leave smudged prints on every surface. There was a broken mirror tacked to the wall. Aranea saw herself for the first time since her daemon raid. There were soot imprints on her face where the gaps in her helmet resided. It gave the area around her eyes a black mask-like appearance.

She scowled and focused on some miscellaneous tools that were scattered around, including a busted camera. Aranea nudged the casing with a knuckle, minding not to disturb the different parts and pieces scattered across the desk. The whole collection of stuff gave the impression of a state of disrepair.

"I'm holding it for a friend," the woman said as she came to stand beside her. The mechanic's eyes hooded in sadness as she took in the sight of the broken device.

"His name wouldn't happen to be Prompto, would it?" Aranea asked.

"Well I'll be. You know him, too?"

"Sure do. How's the kid holding up?" She turned and leaned her hip against the desk to give the woman better access to her arm. The lunchbox was popped open to reveal a plethora of medical supplies: potions, ace bandages, creams. There weren't many bottles of healing concoctions available, so Aranea didn't protest when the woman didn't offer to use one and instead cleaned her wound with an alcohol wipe.

"His camera aside, you'll be pleased to know he's a right terror for daemons. He's off taking care of some right now. A few were spotted getting too close for comfort."

It was true, Aranea couldn't help but be satisfied at the news. The last time she'd seen Prompto he'd been in the infancy of obtaining his self-confidence and honing his abilities – and here he was battling the planet's toughest abominations on his own. Aranea would never admit it aloud, but she was proud of how far the shortcake had come.

"At any rate, he's done better for himself than I'd say you have. If you don't mind me saying."

Aranea's mood immediately soured and she scowled. "Maybe I do. Besides, you should have seen the other guys."

The woman focused on her work, wrapping a bandage around Aranea's bicep with steady fingers. But she was paying enough attention to say, "Oh? Sounds like a story worth telling."

Conflicted, Aranea wanted to avoid saying anything lest she seem embarrassed. Which she _was_ , but nobody needed to know that. If she detailed the events then the mechanic might think her foolish. Aranea wasn't enthused at the prospect of being looked down upon, not after how hard she'd worked to get where she is. In the end, she mumbled something indistinct.

"Beg pardon?" the shorter woman asked.

"I _said_ , this one Bomb pissed me off so I head-butted it. The spike on my helmet punctured the daemon's shell like a needle stabbing a balloon."

"No!"

"When it exploded, the cretin detonated all its little friends, too."

"My word," the woman said, but there wasn't as much cheekiness at her expense like Aranea expected. When she looked at the mechanic, the woman was smiling, but it appeared to be in relief rather than humor. She finished off the end of the bandage and smoothed the end with her thumb.

"Well, there ya go. Right as rain."

Aranea turned her arm to inspect the result. It looked solid and secure. "Thanks…?"

"Oh! Where are my manners? Cindy's the name, Cindy Aurum."

"Nice work, Cindy."

"Welcome anytime."

Aranea just stood there, unsure if she should leave or not. She'd been reluctant to trust Cindy in the beginning, but now that she was here Aranea found herself hesitant to dismiss her. Maybe she didn't feel much like going back to her crew and dealing with their crap yet. At the very least, Cindy had proven to be better company for the time being.

Cindy cleaned up after herself and went to the same storage locker as before. She tucked the makeshift medkit safely away. She must have also taken notice of Aranea hovering because she asked, "Anything else I can do you for?"

"…Nah, this should be sufficient. Thanks again."

"Okay, don't be a stranger now. We all gotta look after one another."

"Right. I'll do that," Aranea said, surprised at herself for how sincere she was. Not that she'd want a repeat of events, but if she did run into trouble… Well, she knew where to go, now.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [writing blog on Tumblr](http://snaurus.tumblr.com/) for more content!


End file.
